


Thrown

by hokay



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Magic, Declan Lynch never actually appears I'm so sorry, Kind of a pottery AU, M/M, Rated T for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hokay/pseuds/hokay
Summary: Ronan is following Gansey out of the history building, listening to him wax poetic again about the various appeals of dead Welsh kings when Gansey stops dead in his tracks and says, “Oh, Adam, hello!”Ronan knows that tone - that’s the same tone Gansey uses when he sees that insane art major girl he’s obsessed with. (Ronan’s pretty sure her name’s a color, he just can’t be bothered to remember, okay? He mostly just calls her “Maggot” anyway.) This is Gansey at his most amiable, his most likable, and it instantly sets Ronan on high alert. He looks down his nose at the person Gansey’s calling out to and his breath catches in his lungs.Who the fuck gave any human person the right to be that fucking beautiful?--An indulgent college/artist/pottery AU (of sorts)
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Declan Lynch, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 19
Kudos: 257





	Thrown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DARLING ROZU! I hope you have the very best day today! We started talking about pottery AUs and holding hands and this is what happens.
> 
> In this AU, the whole gang is 20-21 and attends George Washington University because Harvard wasn’t convenient (sorry, Maggie). 
> 
> Big thanks to [Len](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyLen) for reading this over to make sure it was birthday-worthy!

Ronan is following Gansey out of the history building, listening to him wax poetic _again_ about the various appeals of dead Welsh kings when Gansey stops dead in his tracks and says, “Oh, Adam, hello!”

Ronan knows that tone - that’s the same tone Gansey uses when he sees that insane art major girl he’s obsessed with. (Ronan’s pretty sure her name’s a color, he just can’t be bothered to remember, okay? He mostly just calls her “Maggot” anyway.) This is Gansey at his most amiable, his most likable, and it instantly sets Ronan on high alert. He looks down his nose at the person Gansey’s calling out to and his breath catches in his lungs.

Who the _fuck_ gave any human person the right to be that _fucking_ beautiful?

The boy-man-person in question - _Adam_ \- smiles up at Gansey and runs a hand through sandy hair as he steps up to them. He’s not dressed like a hipster so Ronan spares a moment to wonder how Gansey knows him when he hears Gansey ask, “How’s your pottery class shaping up?” and it clicks for Ronan - the guy’s another fucking art major. He makes up his mind to block out the rest of the conversation until he hears his name. He changes his mind to kill Gansey as soon as possible.

“This is Ronan,” Gansey says. “You’ve probably heard about him from Blue.”

_Blue. Oops._

“Um, yeah, I’ve heard,” Adam says, and his voice is all syrupy-vowels that pour down Ronan’s spine in a delicious trickle. Ronan looks up just in time to catch Adam’s eyes - cornflower-blue - before he sees Adam sticking his hand out. He takes it before he really knows what he’s doing, feeling stupid as hell but also desperate to know what those fingers feel like between his own.

“Adam Parrish,” Adam says. His smile has dimmed a bit but Ronan’s used to that.

“Ronan Lynch,” he manages to grind out, and Adam’s eyes light up with recognition.

“Lynch,” he says slowly, looking from Ronan to Gansey. He hasn’t released Ronan’s hand. Ronan says a Hail Mary under his breath, eyes caught on the red clay caught under Adam’s nails. “Isn’t your boyfriend’s last name Lynch?”

Gansey blushes, which Ronan thinks is a little naive of him considering the things he’s caught Gansey doing to Declan and vice versa. “Yes, Declan is Ronan’s brother,” he explains.

Ronan’s hand gives an involuntary spasm. Adam looks down and hastily loosens his grip. Ronan misses the warmth of his palm instantly.

“I’d better get goin’,” Adam tells them. He looks at Ronan, not Gansey, when he says, “I’ll see y’all around?”

Ronan manages the barest jerk of his head.

“Definitely!” Gansey chirps. Ronan might not kill him after all.

Adam quirks his lips at Ronan, a barely-there smile, before heading into the history building. Gansey straightens his bag on his shoulder and smiles at Ronan.

“Delightful, isn’t he?” Gansey asks as they make their way to the student union. He has a date - _ugh_ \- with Declan tonight and is “in desperate need of finishing this paper, don’t roll your eyes at me, Ronan, please.” Ronan tags along because a) he has nothing better to do, and b) he can appear somewhat productive to Gansey, who would never rat him out to Declan but will mother-hen him until they die or graduate, whichever comes first.

Now, though. Now, Ronan can’t stop thinking about casting wide cheekbones and a slightly crooked smile into bronze, cutting away slivers of nothing until they give way to a uniquely handsome face. He wonders if it’s possible to steal some marble out of the art building. He might even recruit _Blue_ to do it - she seems like she can keep a secret.

“Are you even listening to me?” Gansey asks, stopping at the campus Starbucks. Ronan refuses to get coffee there on principle, but he will drink anything purchased for him, a fact Gansey abuses with relish.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the “p” as Gansey hands him an almond milk latte.

“As I was saying,” Gansey says with a huff, “I think you’d really like Adam. He’s poli-sci, but he teaches with a pottery class that I think you’d really like.”

“I thought he was an art major,” Ronan says, sipping his coffee.

“Heavens, no,” Gansey says. Ronan grins viciously. At heart, Gansey will always be a seventy-year-old Southern belle. “He has a gift, truly, but I think he’s dead set on being a lawyer. Blue said her mom got him into pottery when they were in high school and he’s just stuck with it. But,” he says as he sets his books down onto a miraculously empty table in the study room, “he’s incredibly smart and funny. I really do think you guys would hit it off.”

“Whatever, man,” Ronan says, flinging himself into a nearby armchair. “I’m going to nap until my next class.” He pulls his hood over his eyes and slumps down.

“Ronan,” he hears Gansey say, exasperated. “Don’t you have to study?” He asks it like it’s not August, like Ronan doesn’t hate the major his brother picked for him, like Ronan ever studies.

“Can’t hear you,” Ronan mutters, crossing his arms. “M’sleep.”

<<>>

Ronan looks up when Gansey drops the pamphlet onto the Latin translation of Ovid he’s working through and Ronan reminds himself that his best friend is the least subtle person on the planet, despite Gansey’s protests otherwise.

“Gans,” he says tiredly. “What the fuck is this?”

“Hmm?” Gansey says, already pretending to be deep into Chaucer. He looks up when the balled-up pamphlet hits him squarely between the eyes. “Ronan, really.” He throws the paper back with unnerving accuracy. “I know it’s hard but I think getting back into art would be good for you.”

Ronan’s gut twists unpleasantly. “I’m fine.”

Gansey looks up at him over his glasses. “I’m not talking about messing around with marble that you blackmail from Blue. I’m talking about actually sitting down and participating in an art class. That’s the information for Adam’s class. He said he has a few openings left; you might as well go and see what it’s all about before you decide to hate it.”

Ronan scoffs, shoving himself back from the shared kitchen table and stalking into his bedroom. He thinks about throwing the paper away out of spite, but he hates doing anything spiteful toward Gansey when Gansey is so obviously in his corner. He carefully uncrumples the pamphlet. It’s the usual drivel about classes and experience levels, but the back panel has Adam’s name listed, along with his campus email and a campus phone number. Ronan lifts his wrist to his lips, chewing the leather bands there as he considers. Before he can talk himself out of it, he pulls up his precariously full inbox on his phone and fires off a quick email to Adam telling him he wants to sign up for the intermediate class. He throws his phone into a pile of questionable laundry when he’s done, too embarrassed with himself to do anything else.

If this blows up in his face, he really will kill Gansey.

<<>>

**To:** _Ronan Lynch (rlynch@gwu.edu)_

 **From:** _Adam Parrish (aparrish@gwu.edu)_

 **Subject:** Re: Pottery Shit

Hi, Ronan --

Thanks for your interest. The intermediate class meets every Monday night at 6:00. Feel free to come early if you have any questions.

Best,

Adam

P.S. If this is just you being suckered into something because Gansey worked his guilt-magic on you, don’t worry about coming.

<<>>

Ronan arrives at 6:15, hoping he’ll be late enough that the doors will be closed. He’s sort of hoping that his vision of Adam in his head is just marred by the one time they’ve actually met and that the real Adam is terribly flawed past all redemption.

In reality, it turns out the first fifteen minutes are purely social anyway, and the impressed look that Adam gives Ronan when he steps through the door practically stops Ronan in his tracks. As it is, he quirks an eyebrow back at Adam and saunters over to the station where Adam’s perched on a stool behind a pottery wheel.

“Surprised, Parrish?” Ronan asks with a sharp grin. His pulse is thundering in his ears.

“Underwhelmed, Lynch,” Adam says with an equally vicious smile. “Blue bet you wouldn’t show up at all.”

Ronan scoffs at that. “Well, I live to defy the Maggot’s expectations.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I can imagine.” He gestures at one of the empty stations in the room. “There’s no assigned seating. Feel free to sit wherever.” He gives Ronan a once over. “Wearing all black to a pottery class is a pretty bold move, Lynch.”

“My mother always said dress to impress,” Ronan says. He wants to take the words back as soon as they’re out of his mouth but Adam’s ears flush pink. Ronan stares for a moment before he realizes he’s losing what little cool he managed to bring with him and stomps over to a station within Adam’s eye line, shedding his leather jacket as he goes. He thinks about leaving off the provided apron but the thought of having to get clay stains out of his jeans pushes him to slip it over his head.

“Right, okay,” Adam says and Ronan feels a small thrill as he sees Adam forcibly look away from him. “We’re working on mugs, so let’s get started.”

<<>>

Pottery takes a deft hand - which Ronan has - but it also takes concentration. Concentration Ronan doesn’t have when he watches Adam dig his thumbs into a lump of wet clay and cup his hands in such a way that the whole production turns phallic and pornographic in a matter of seconds. Ronan spends more time gaping at Adam’s hands than on his own mug and he ends up having to start over two or three times before he pulls his gaze away from Adam and actually manages to pull his lump of listless brown clay into something mug-shaped. He spends a couple of minutes thinking of what handle he should make before he thinks of the gentle curves of the mugs at his mother’s house and goes with that because, hey, create what you know.

An hour passes before he realizes it and it’s not too long before he looks up and Adam’s standing over him, eyes crinkling gently at his handiwork. They’re alone in the room. Ronan kicks himself for not paying better attention to the time.

“I gotta say, I was hoping you’d be totally terrible at this,” Adam says with a little laugh, “but of course, you’re a natural.”

Ronan feels his face grow hot and shrugs his shoulder a little as he lets the wheel come to a stop. “It’s not so different from sculpture,” he says as he looks at his mug instead of Adam’s face. “You’re taking something that doesn’t look like anything and making it into what you want it to be. You find the true shape in the medium,” and of course, that’s when he chooses to look up at Adam.

Adam’s mouth is open slightly, the barest hint of teeth behind pink lips. His eyes are still so, so blue and they’re soft as he’s watching Ronan. (Ronan’s used to the ice-clear blue eyes that he and his brothers share; this is different, warmer.) His cheekbones are stark in this lighting, creating shadows and depth on his face that Ronan longs to translate into stone. Their eyes meet and Ronan considers the possibility of smashing his entire mug, asking Adam to help him start over, maybe pulling a _Ghost_ -moment. He’s not having any trouble seeing Adam as a young Swayze…

“I didn’t know you were a sculptor,” Adam finally says, pulling his eyes away. The moment’s not gone, exactly, but it’s shifted. Ronan’s not mad but he feels frustrated like he’s missed the mark once again and he’s left to pick up the pieces. “Blue said you were a business major,” Adam finishes as he walks around the room, cleaning up workstations and generally puttering. Ronan preens as he realizes that Adam did some digging on him, or at least let Blue tell him something about Ronan that he held onto for the next time they met.

“I’m...undecided,” Ronan mumbles, carrying his mug to where the others are gathered for drying.

Adam shoots him a skeptical glance. “Aren’t you a junior?”

Ronan bares his teeth at him; the facade of a smile. “Yeah, Parrish, I’m a late bloomer, what about it?”

Adam shakes his head, moving to wash his hands at the sink. Ronan joins him, barely brushing their shoulders together as they scrub clay from their hands.

“It just seems like someone would have made you pick a major by now,” Adam muses, scraping at clay under his fingernails. “Isn’t there a rule that you have to have declared by the end of sophomore year or something?”

“On paper,” Ronan says with a huff, “I am a business major with an art minor. That is the combination that my brother decided would best suit his needs and the family business, and I lost the battle, so,” he hunches his shoulders, curling around the anger that rattles through him so that it doesn’t lash out at the beautiful boy next to him, “here I am.” He finishes washing his hands and dries them with a paper towel, leaning against the counter as he watches Adam’s thumbs work themselves over his skin. He wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone’s hands. “How come you’re teaching Pottery for Dummies if you’re poli-sci?”

Adam’s ears go red again and Ronan realizes that he just revealed that he also did some digging on Adam. He finds he doesn’t mind if it means Adam gets this flustered by the attention. It’s a good look on him; Ronan wants to kiss the flush from his cheeks.

“I want to help people,” Adam says after a moment, shutting off the water and drying his own hands. “Pottery helped me a lot when I was in high school, but I don’t have the patience for art therapy. I decided law school was the next best thing.”

Ronan throws his head back at that and laughs. When he looks back at Adam, one fair eyebrow is hitched so high it practically disappears into Adam’s hairline. “I don’t know of anyone who thinks of law school as a second choice, Parrish,” Ronan says with a grin. “I think you’re plenty patient if you can teach a bunch of people who don’t know the difference between slip and glaze how to make mugs and shit.”

Adam’s face is properly red now. “Thanks,” he snaps, pushing away from Ronan to grab his bag. “I’m so glad you’ve got my future all figured out, Lynch, that’s very helpful.”

“Hey, no, wait,” Ronan says but Adam’s already gone, slipping out of the door, leaving Ronan standing in the middle of a pottery classroom wondering whether or not he should just stop talking altogether.

<<>>

“So, how did it go?” Gansey pulls the pillow off of Ronan’s head, which severely cuts in on the progress Ronan’s been making on smothering himself to death. Ronan glares at him in response, making grabby hands at the pillow. Gansey, unhelpfully, throws it on the loveseat and makes room for himself amid Ronan’s legs on the couch. “Out with it, man. I could barely focus at dinner because I need details.”

Ronan makes a face. “I should have disowned you when you started dating my brother.”

Gansey snorts, pushing his glasses up on his nose with his middle knuckle. “Leave Declan out of this, Ronan, and tell me - how did it go?”

Ronan stares mournfully at the ceiling. “I insulted him.”

Gansey appears over him, the patron saint of earnest busybody-ing. “What? How?”

“I’m...not sure.”

“Well,” Gansey taps at his lip with his fingers, thinking. “I know you can be abrasive, Ronan, but that’s part of your charm. Maybe you only think you insulted him but you actually made a friend for life?”

Ronan pulls his head out from under his arms to glare at his best friend. “Do you actually live in a Boxcar Children book, or what?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gansey says with a laugh, pushing off the couch to go into the kitchen. He’s quiet for a minute, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Coffee makes Ronan think of mugs, which makes him think of Adam, and he groans.

All goes quiet in the kitchen before Gansey’s head pokes around the doorway. “Ronan,” he says, considering. “Are you attracted to him?”

Ronan shoots up on the couch, arms rigid. “Dick,” he says evenly, deadly. “Did you send me to a fucking pottery class because you actually thought it would be good for me and not because you thought I liked the guy teaching it?”

Gansey’s sheepish grin is visible from space.

“Jesus, Mary, and _fucking_ Joseph,” Ronan swears, vaulting off the couch. He makes it as far as his bedroom door before Gansey is there, physically blocking Ronan from slamming the door in his obnoxiously helpful face.

“Ronan, listen, it took me years to figure out that Declan was interested in me, you know that. I’m not good at this, I don’t see things that other people see,” Gansey rattles, braced against the doorframe. “But, knowing what I know _now_ ,” he ignores Ronan’s disbelieving laugh, “I think that you maybe need to let Adam give you another chance.”

“No,” Ronan spits, throwing his finger in Gansey’s face. “That sounds like blind date territory, and I fucking refuse, Gans, I swear to God.”

“To think you grew up Catholic,” Gansey mutters under his breath before he brightens. “Okay, so no setups. What if the two of you just happen to be at the same place around the same time?”

“That’s a fucking setup-”

“No, no, it’s not! Look, Adam is applying for an internship with the mayor’s office and, you know, there’s that fundraiser next week. If I happened to drag you both there - Adam for the connections, you to see your brother - then it wouldn’t be a setup!”

The look Ronan gives Gansey could level cities. Unfortunately, Gansey is immune after seven years of Lynch family association.

“I’ll figure it out myself, Gans, thanks,” Ronan sneers. He digs his fingers into Gansey’s ribs, a cheap shot if there ever was one. It works; Gansey, ticklish as hell, gasps and releases the door. Ronan gets it to shut with less force than he wanted, but once he throws the lock, he’s free to sulk in peace.

<<>>

Figuring it out himself turns into going back to Adam’s class at random intervals, never making eye contact and leaving as soon as the class is over. He makes chip bowls, vases, and one unfortunate pitcher that he has to put out of its misery because he made the mistake of looking up at Adam just as he was forming the mouth. The guarded curiosity in Adam’s eyes makes Ronan’s fingers twitch and the entire pitcher is reduced to a lump in an instant. Ronan swears colorfully under his breath, which gets him some dirty looks from nearby students, but when he looks back at Adam, his attention is already on another student, a small grin curving the corner of his lips.

Ronan plays it safe for a couple of weeks, only slouching into class when he thinks he can catch Adam off-guard, but it all goes to hell in a handbasket when he and Gansey are out to dinner one blustery, late October night. Midterms have just wrapped up and Ronan is buying Gansey’s silence with pizza when a familiar voice that Ronan can’t quite place says, “Fancy seeing you two here,” and there’s Blue with Adam in tow, looking windblown and chilly.

Blue doesn’t wait for an invitation before she slips into the booth next to Gansey, asking him how his midterms went. Adam hesitates for a moment before he sinks next to Ronan, leaving a careful couple of inches between them. Ronan stares down at his pizza, picking off mushrooms to throw at Gansey later when Blue turns her attention on him.

“So, Ronan, how did you do? Ready to run the world from atop the corporate America throne yet?”

His lip curls into a sneer before he can stop it. “Ruin the world, maybe.”

“Ronan, manners,” Gansey demurs. To their equal surprise, though, Blue just laughs, the clips in her flyaway hair catching the low light in the restaurant. Ronan watches them, feeling like a crow or a raven tracking something shiny.

“Why the hell are you a business major?” Blue asks. “I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense for you to be art, considering-”

“Adam,” Gansey practically shouts, cutting off Blue entirely. Ronan delights in thinking about how he can scold Gansey for that later. “How did you do?”

Ronan happily tunes out the conversation again, focusing on building a small mushroom mountain on his plate, when he feels the brush of a calf against his own. He freezes for just a moment before glancing out of the corner of his eye at Adam. He seems invested in Gansey’s questions but under the table, his leg is pressed firmly against Ronan’s in a move that could be nothing but deliberate considering how carefully Adam had left space between them when he’d first sat down. Ronan leans back in the booth and just lets himself feel the warmth of another body against his, even through two layers of jeans. He wonders what it would feel like to capture Adam’s hand in his own, thread his fingers through Adam’s and let their skin warm together.

“How about it, Ronan?” Gansey asks and Ronan is flung back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. “Halloween party sound up to your discerning tastes this year?”

“You don’t like Halloween?” Blue asks. She steals Ronan’s Coke to take a sip. He sticks his tongue out at her; she responds in kind.

“Ronan’s birthday is November first,” Gansey explains, ignoring them both. “We’re usually preoccupied with birthday shenanigans on Halloween.”

“Oh, don’t let us stop you,” Blue says quickly. “It won’t be much, anyway, just a random assortment of miscreants.”

“A random assortment of miscreants sounds right up our alley,” Gansey says with a laugh. He looks up at Ronan, eyes shining. “How about it?”

Ronan can feel Adam’s eyes on him. He hasn’t moved his leg this entire time. “Sure,” he says, feigning nonchalance. “I’m up for whatever.”

Ignoring Gansey’s huffed, “It’s your birthday, Ronan, it doesn’t have to be whatever,” he looks over at Adam. Those blue eyes are on him in full force and that smile - Ronan’s favorite smile - is whispering at the corner of Adam’s mouth. Ronan quirks an eyebrow at him, an unspoken question, and Adam quirks an eyebrow back in answer.

“I’m going to head back,” Ronan announces to the table, cutting into Gansey regaling Blue with his research on the Welsh king front. Gansey looks torn like he’s thinking of following suit, but then Adam says, “Yeah, me too,” and Gansey’s face transitions from concerned to smug so fast it makes Ronan a little sick.

They gather themselves up and escape before Blue or Gansey can say anything else embarrassing. The walk back to campus isn’t unbearable and Ronan hip checks Adam once, testing. Adam lets out an inelegant noise and Ronan laughs, inviting Adam in on the joke rather than making him the butt of one.

Adam looks at him over his scarf. “You’re avoiding me.”

“Not true,” Ronan says. Not a lie. “I’ve been coming to your class.”

“And keeping your head down the entire time,” Adam laughs. He coughs, rubbing his nose, then shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Look, I-” he sighs. It’s a heavy thing. “I blew up at you that first time and I shouldn’t have. I felt like an ass afterward but I’m not great at apologizing. Blue tells me all the time it’s what’ll make me a great attorney.” He gives Ronan a self-deprecating smile.

“I think you’ll be a badass lawyer,” Ronan says seriously. He watches Adam grin before saying, “I don’t know what I said that upset you, but I didn’t mean it.”

Adam chews his lip for a minute before saying, “I know.” He sighs again. “Where I’m from, no one really thought I’d be much more than a shiftwork kinda guy. I, um,” he runs his hand through his hair, helping the wind make it look truly wild, “I didn’t have a lot growing up, so when I decided to go to law school, it was a do or die kind of thing. There’s a bunch of people that think I could be doin’ somethin’ else, but this is what I want.”

Adam’s syrupy drawl is creeping back, but there’s something else, something steely that Ronan recognizes in himself.

They keep walking for just a couple of minutes before Ronan hears himself say, impossibly, “No one expects much out of me, either.”

Adam gives him a disbelieving look and Ronan stares at his boots as he strides across the pavement. “My dad was Niall Lynch,” Ronan says. He feels faint.

“Oh, Ronan,” Adam says. There’s no pity in it, just understanding.

“Coming from that, growing up with that - people either think you’re going to be just the same or that you’ll never match up.” He clears his throat. It’s been years since he’s talked to anyone about this; Gansey’s the only one who really knows. And now he’s senselessly trusting this boy with a part of his soul that he’d thought he’d lost - it’s a lot all at once and Ronan can feel panic rising at the back of his throat, viscous and vicious.

He feels a hand at his elbow and Adam is pulling them both to a stop. “I read about it,” Adam says quietly. “They did a profile on him in a magazine. Blue’s mom had a copy.”

“Yeah,” Ronan says. He feels unbearably tired. “I bet no article mentioned that one of the greatest art dealers of his generation was actually an art thief who had his brains beat out of him in his driveway while his wife and children were in the house, getting ready for church.”

Adam’s sharp intake of breath rattles through Ronan like an echo in a canyon. They’re on campus proper now, just a few blocks from Ronan’s apartment, and he has an overwhelming desire to ask Adam to come home with him, partly to see the shock on Adam’s face, partly to see if he would.

“Ronan, I-” Adam toys with the strap on his bag, thinking. “Ronan, I’m so sorry.” He hums a little to himself. “My dad died when I was fifteen. I practically grew up with Blue. He-I-I never got what it sounds like you had. But I can imagine that your dad, whatever he was, loved you.”

It is, somehow, exactly what Ronan needs to hear from this boy. He has a million questions, wants to spend the rest of the night getting to know Adam in any way he can, but Adam’s phone rings at that moment and Ronan grits his teeth, pulling away from Adam as he answers, giving Ronan an apologetic look.

After a hasty conversation, Adam hangs up. He’s watching Ronan carefully and it makes Ronan itch, makes him miss his car, parked in Declan’s garage.

“Ronan,” Adam says softly.

“I’ll see you at the Halloween thing,” Ronan says swiftly, walking backward, away from Adam. He needs to walk for a bit, clear his head. Call his mother, if it’s not too late.

“Ronan,” Adam says again and Ronan looks up to see doubt and fear flicker across Adam’s face.

“Text Gansey your costume,” Ronan says. He grins, all teeth. “Maybe we can match.”

Adam’s bark of laughter, quick and surprise, warms Ronan all the way home.

<<>>

“Oh, my god,” Blue squeals. “You guys look awesome.”

Ronan looks down at his bedsheet toga and over at Gansey’s blue “Druid” face paint and random assortment of clothing that makes him look more homeless than Merlin. “Maggot,” he says carefully. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little,” Blue admits, grinning brightly. “Y’all need a drink!” She leads them into the bowels of the house where the party is being hosted. There’s a Halloween mix playing that makes Ronan’s ears bleed, but the punch is pretty good and no one’s bumped into him in a drunken haze, so he’s feeling pretty okay. He spots Henry Cheng, Gansey’s crush before he’d finally figured Declan out, and turns to jab Gansey when he sees Adam, slipping between a boy with shockingly white-blond hair and Blue.

“Hi,” Adam says with a small grin.

“Hey,” Ronan replies, feeling his face grow warm.

Adam’s in a toga, like him, but there’s a belt of vines wrapped around his waist and his bedsheet’s green, not cream like Ronan’s. Where Ronan has a crown of golden laurels resting on his shorn hair, Adam has a wreath of autumn leaves and acorns - all Blue had told Gansey was that Adam was going to be a forest nymph. Ronan hadn’t known what the fuck that meant until Gansey had laughingly told him, “I think he’s wearing a toga,” and Ronan’s brain had short-circuited.

He sidles into Adam’s space, pressing in close to his left side. “You look really good,” he says, a puff of breath against Adam’s ear.

Adam turns to him, bemused, a small, different smile playing across his lips. “What?” he asks, shifting so that Ronan is on his right side.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Ronan asks, embarrassed. He’d read the signals wrong, he came on too strong, he fucked up-

“No,” Adam says. His smile that’s just for Ronan is back. “But I will take some fresh air if you’re up for it.”

It feels like peace, like a meeting in the middle, so Ronan hands his cup off to Gansey and follows Adam through the house, up the stairs and down a hall with doors that opened onto a small balcony.

It’s freezing but Adam doesn’t seem to mind, taking in a deep lungful of bitter air as he leans against the iron railing. In the moonlight, he really does look like a nymph. Ronan is struck with the image of Adam in a forest, kneeling by a brook among ferns and listening to the leaves rustle around him.

“The trees speak Latin,” Ronan mutters to himself.

“What’s that?” Adam asks, looking over at him.

“My mom used to say that trees are so old, they speak Latin. It’s not a dead language, only sleeping. Like the trees.”

Adam nods his head, as though what Ronan just said actually makes any sort of sense. “Trees definitely speak Latin, but shrubs are French.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ronan snarls. “Useless fucking language for useless fucking plants.”

Adam laughs with him and something eases up in Ronan’s chest. He takes a deep breath and slides over so that he’s bracketing Adam against the balcony with his arms.

“Tell me if this isn’t okay,” he mumbles into Adam’s shoulder and Adam shivers.

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, “just stay on my right side.”

“I think both sides are your good side,” Ronan confesses and Adam laughs again, shaking against Ronan’s chest. He turns so that his back is pressed against the balcony and his hands come up to Ronan’s biceps.

It could be the middle of January and Ronan thinks he’d still be on fire from Adam touching his skin.

“I’m deaf in my left ear,” Adam says by way of explanation, and Ronan thinks back to when they were downstairs. “Childhood accident.”

Something about the way his lips twist makes Ronan’s blood boil. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he murmurs.

Adam looks at him. His eyelashes are gold in the moonlight. There’s not much of a height distance between them, just a couple of inches in Ronan’s favor, but here, crowded against a secluded balcony while a party rages below them, Ronan feels ten feet tall.

“Parrish,” Ronan says, but Adam interrupts him.

“I’d really like it,” he says shyly, “if you came to my class every week instead of just sometimes.”

Ronan huffs a breath against his cheek. “No promises, Parrish,” he says. “But I can try my best.” Ronan’s heart is racing as he breathes against Adam’s skin. “Anything else?”

“I can think of one-” Adam starts before Ronan’s cutting him off, pressing his lips to Adam’s in a deep kiss. Adam whines into his mouth, hands clutching at Ronan’s arms. Ronan frees one hand from the balcony and it comes up to cup the back of Adam’s skull, threading under his leafy crown and into sandy hair. He brings his other hand up and uses his thumbs to slot under Adam’s jaw, tipping his head back so Ronan can delve deeper, press his tongue against the seam of Adam’s lips, licking the roof of Adam’s mouth once he’s let in. His fingers cup Adam’s ears but when Adam sinks his teeth into Ronan’s bottom lip, his fingers twitch, tugging lightly at Adam’s hair.

Adam gasps, leaning into the touch. “Jesus.”

Ronan snorts. “You may call me Ronan,” he says, but it comes out weak and breathy with laughter.

Before long, they’re both leaning against each other, laughing until one descends into hiccups. Then it’s a look or a sigh and they’re off again, foreheads pressed into shoulders and arms trembling.

“Adam,” Ronan breathes, lips pressed to the column of Adam’s neck. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

Adam twitches away but doesn’t escape the circle of Ronan’s arms. “Shut up, Lynch.”

“I don’t lie, Parrish,” Ronan says, licking Adam’s right earlobe before pulling into his mouth with a gentle suck.

Adam’s answering moan is all Ronan needs.

  
  


**Epilogue**

“I can’t believe I let you coerce me into this,” Adam says, staring out the window as they leave Richmond behind and head into the countryside. His hand rests unassumingly on his thigh so Ronan reaches over, flipping it so Adam’s holding the BMW’s gearshift and Ronan’s holding Adam. He smirks at Adam and laces their fingers together as he shifts from third to fourth. The stunned, flushed look on Adam’s face is everything.

“You were coerced into nothing,” Ronan says, focusing back on the road. “Declan and I aren’t great at family gatherings. You and Gansey are much-needed moral support.”

“Babysitters, more like,” Adam mumbles and Ronan’s grin goes dark.

“Sure, Parrish. I never had a crush on a babysitter before.”

Adam laughs, head ducking a little as his thumb runs over Ronan’s hand. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Fine,” Ronan concedes with a sigh that morphs into a yawn. “Talk nerdy to me until we get there so I don’t run us off the road.”

Adam gives him a skeptical glance but launches into complaining about his global studies professor and how he just needs an A in the class so his GPA isn’t shot when he applies for law school. Harvard and Princeton are on the shortlist, but also Georgetown, and that makes Ronan feel warm all over. They drive for about an hour before Ronan pulls into a long, tree-lined drive that opens up into a clearing with a shining white farmhouse and four or five barns scattered haphazardly on the property.

“You grew up here?” Adam asks, eyes wide.

“More or less,” Ronan says. He can see his mother on the porch, hand over her eyes as she watches them crawl up the drive. He looks over to see that Adam has gone sheet-white. “Adam, hey.” Ronan squeezes their fingers together. “She’s gonna love you.”

“I can’t-I’m not-” Adam’s eyes are wide, spooked. “I grew up in a trailer park, Ronan, I don’t fit.”

“You fit,” Ronan says fiercely. “You fit perfectly.” He lifts their hands off the gearshift and presses a kiss to Adam’s palm. He smells earthy from the clay he was working that morning and lemony from the soap he used to wash it off.

Adam still looks a little panicky as they pull into the spot in front of the porch, so Ronan leaves him to fuss with the bags as he vaults up the steps and sweeps his mom into a hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Aurora chirps. She weighs practically nothing; it makes Ronan nervous until he sees how glowy and happy she is. “You boys are the first - Matty’s plane gets in around five, so Declan and Gansey are going to pick him up on their way down.”

“We could have gotten him, Mom,” Ronan says, rankled, but Aurora just winks at him and floats down the porch steps, arms held wide.

“Adam Parrish,” she says, sweeping him into a hug. “So happy to meet you.”

“You too, ma’am,” Adam says but Aurora just clucks at him, saying, “Call me Aurora, Adam, please.” She herds them both inside, telling them to leave their bags by the door as she disappears into the kitchen. Ronan presses a kiss against Adam’s temple before following her in.

Aurora’s made tea and snickerdoodles and she fusses over them while they make themselves comfortable at the big kitchen table. Adam sips carefully, eyes trailing over the farm kitchen until he sees the collection of pottery in the corner cherrywood hutch.

Ronan grins at him and says, “Adam grew up outside Roanoke, Mom. He knows Maura Sargent.”

Aurora hums approvingly. She sets her cup down and beams at Adam. “Oh, I love Maura! How do you know her?”

Adam glances at Ronan, who reaches for his hand without thinking. Adam looks at Aurora and says, “She was my art therapist after my dad died.”

Aurora blinks before she reaches forward and brushes the hair off of Adam’s forehead. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says quietly. “You’re not alone in that heartache here.”

“I know,” Adam says, squeezing Ronan’s hand. “Maura taught me pottery. She thought it would be better for me to direct all my energy towards something creative, something tangible.” His voice shakes a little and he looks startled with himself. “May I use your bathroom?”

“Second door on the left,” Aurora says, pointing him down the hall.

They watch him go and Ronan waits until the door shuts before he says, “His dad used to beat the shit out of him, Mom. Maura wasn’t just his therapist; she took Adam in after his mom kicked him out. There wasn’t any money after his dad died.”

Aurora’s face is grave. “How is he now?”

Ronan smiles; it’s a gentle, tender thing. “He’s good. He teaches pottery classes at school for fun. He wants to be a lawyer to get kids out of bad homes. He’s so smart, Mom, and-” he voice catches in his throat. There are words there, words that it’s too early to say.

Aurora grins at him; she speaks Lynch better than any of them. “I can see why Gansey likes him,” she says offhandedly, standing to clear cups. “They both have that hungry look like they’re searching for all the answers of the universe.” She runs a little water in the sink and comes over to press a kiss to Ronan’s forehead. “You did good, kiddo.” Humming a little, she drifts out of the kitchen and away to the rest of the house to give them a little space.

Ronan sits, waiting for Adam to come back. When he does, Ronan pulls him outside, shows him where Ronan fell off the tire swing when he was ten and split his lip open. He shows him his dad’s office, where Niall used to do all his business; they don’t talk about the empty spot in the gravel just outside that particular barn. He leads Adam through the back pasture and kisses him soundly against a tree, bundling them together for warmth.

Finally, Ronan brings him to one of the smaller barns. It looks more like a greenhouse, with one long wall full of windows that face south to catch the best of the sun. The door opens soundlessly and Ronan’s instantly hit with the dusty, earthy scents of clay, marble, paper, and wax. He has memories of this place, of sitting with his mom while she carved designs into bowls and, later, driving a chisel through stone with so much anger and pain that it felt like he’d never stop drowning in it.

Adam follows him in and his mouth gapes. “Is this-?”

“Mom’s studio,” Ronan says, fingers trailing over her pottery wheel. “She used to be pretty active - that’s how she and Dad met, actually. She knows Maura through a couple of Blue Ridge artist groups.”

Adam’s studying Aurora’s old kiln; it had been a wedding present from Niall. Ronan remembers Declan burning his hand on it once when they had been small. Adam turns slowly, taking it all in.

“She doesn’t use the space much anymore,” Ronan says, approaching Adam slowly, ”but I sort of figured you might like to have a place to work when you’re here.”

When Adam looks at him, he’s wary but it’s filled with hope. “Am I going to be here a lot, then?”

Ronan steps right up to him, ducks his face so that it’s pressed against Adam’s neck. “I certainly hope so,” he says, voice muffled by Adam’s heavy coat.

“Ronan,” Adam says helplessly. “This is,” he fumbles, looking for words, “this is too much.”

“This is where you fit,” Ronan says, pulling back so he can cup Adam’s face in his hands. “There’s no money being spent. It’s all here, going to waste. You can buy however much or little supplies you want. You can bring your own tools or you can use Mom’s old stuff. You can do whatever the fuck you want with it, Adam.” He runs his thumbs easily over Adam’s cheekbones. “But you fit right here.”

When Adam kisses him, Ronan makes a mental note to buy Gansey the biggest thank-you gift he’s ever gotten in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://pastelle-pvnk.tumblr.com/)


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